Page 8 of Ivory Ashes

“I’m not.”

He fixes me with a look that says he knows better. He knows what I’m up to.

Mikhail is a man who likes to be in control. Color me shocked.

“You’re the one who told me I shouldn’t be anyone’s pawn,” I remind him. Then I clench around him again.

I’m still holding tight when he jerks out of me. Before I can react or beg for forgiveness, Mikhail shoves my thighs wide and drops to his knees.

The moment his tongue delves into me, I realize the dangerous position I’m in. He could leave me like this, aching and needy. I’d probably go mad with wanting him. God, I bet he’d love that. Sick, cruel bastard.

“Is this your kink?” I rasp, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “Are you into edging until I combust?”

He doesn’t respond. It’s probably hard to talk with his lips wrapped around my clit, his tongue flicking at every sensitive part of me until I’m grinding against his mouth.

This sure doesn’t feel like edging.

He drives a finger into me again and I cry out. “Mikhail!”

He growls in response and that vibration is all it takes. I explode in a mess of gushing tremors that I’m way too far gone to be embarrassed about. I pull on his hair and drive my heels into his back as an orgasm more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt tilts my planet off its axis.

His tongue slows, lapping at me as my legs tremble over his shoulders.

When he pulls back, his lips are slick. His hair is sticking up where I dug my fingers in. He is gloriously disheveled and I can’t even bear to look at him.

I stare at the ceiling instead. “Was that my punishment?”

“No.” He pushes my legs aside and they fall open around his waist. His erection pushes against my opening. “I wanted to know what you taste like before I fill you with my cum.”

I’m drained. Spent. Used up and discarded.

Then he slides in me to the hilt and I’m back.

When he presses his thumb to my clit, I might as well be one of those emergency flashlights with the hand cranks. Every time Mikhail touches me, I light up. My lust could power a lighthouse. A beacon. One of those spotlights outside of the circus.

Come one and all, and witness never-before-seen heights of sexual arousal!

“This can’t be real.” I lift my arms over my head because I’m not sure what to do with them otherwise. I’m fully out of my body.

Until Mikhail uses his other hand to gather up my wrists. He holds them firmly while he fucks me.

“Please…” I whimper. I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Tears are forming in the corners of my eyes. I need to come right now. What could he possibly be waiting for? What could feel better than this?

I’m not sure if I said all of that out loud or if Mikhail is as deep in my head as he is my pussy, but he responds.

“I want to finish on your chest. Your stomach. Your ass. I want to paint you like you’re mine.” He growls again, slams home in me again and again. “But you’re so fucking tight…”

I clench around him, the rumblings of another orgasm taking hold. I drag my hand down the flat plane of his stomach. “Later. Do it later. Next time.”

We’ll do this again, won’t we? Several more times. We have to. This can’t be it.

Even if this is it, I want what he promised. I want him to finish inside of me.

I don’t want him to pull away.

---